


Heard You Fuck Through The Wall

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, John is having bad sex with strangers, M/M, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Sherlock is a bit of a creep, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2748104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the song Satellite Mind by Metric. </p><p>John and Sherlock are neighbors. When John starts taking in a seemingly endless string of lovers Sherlock takes note. And notes. And then makes charts. He thinks it only prudent to tell John why the sex he's having is subpar. Of course, he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Satellite Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yarnjunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnjunkie/gifts).



John was drunk, his gait uneven and heavy along the semi-dark hallway. They were supposed to fix the burnt out light the week prior but nothing ever got fixed in that God forsaken place. He tripped and his companion, a sweet older blonde with a taste for military men and an empty ring finger, giggled. John's laugh joined hers and they stopped for a moment to do something. 

Sherlock leaned his face against the door, giving up the pitiful view through the keyhole for the opportunity to hear John's voice better. Oh. John wasn't going to talk. He was going to moan. Moan and kiss, going by the disgustingly wet sounds. Sherlock cringed and slid to the floor. 

He took a moment to pull himself together as the two groped unseen on the other side of the door. He told himself it would be worth it. He stood and grabbed a spare biro and started to scribble. 

_____

"If they knew you were writing all over the walls they'd kick you out." Mycroft said, voice quite nasal due to a minor cold. 

"Then don't tell them." Sherlock said dismissively as he stuck some of John's mail to the wall with a small pocket knife. 

"It's also a crime to steal people's mail. All in all this is a bit 'Silence Of The Lambs' of you." Mycroft replied, sitting at the small desk by the window and glancing across the street at a homeless man going through a bin. 

"CIA this week?" Sherlock shot back with a snort. When Mycroft didn't answer he went along and did for him. "A lady never kisses and tells, I suppose."

Mycroft sipped his tea as Sherlock typed the new information into his laptop and mumbled to himself. A few minutes later the older Holmes stood and righted his suit before walking to the door. 

"You will keep all this at bay, won't you, Sherlock? Stalking is one thing when it's kept in your home during downtime but another entirely when it leaks into the rest of your life." Mycroft said. 

"And another when you're paid to do it? Don't let the door hit you on the arse." Sherlock replied with a smirk. 

Mycroft sighed his trademarked put upon sigh and left the small flat without another word. He did know, after all, when he'd been beaten. 

_____

The bedsprings were shouting their surrender as the rain came down in thick sheets against the window. Sherlock had pulled his large leather chair to the wall he shared with John's bedroom and was crouched on it, writing furiously on the faded plaster. It was the second night with the brunette from the strip club and John was now the one putting on a show. (Sherlock giggled to himself at that.) 

"Captain!" the brunette exclaimed. 

The bed frame hit the wall thrice more and John grunted and stilled. Sherlock checked his watch and wrote the time down quickly before pressing the glass to the plaster and listening carefully. 

Mumbling. First John, then brunette number eight, then John again. 

Steps on the floorboards in the direction of loo. 

The creak of a door and running water. 

Sherlock hopped silently to the ground and followed John's movements. He stood in front of his own sink and made the mistake of looking at himself in the mirror. His eyes were dilated and here was a sheen of sweat on his brow. He brushed it aside with the back of his hand and followed John's steps back out to the sitting room. 

He flopped into the chair and pulled his knees up to his chin so he could think. The notes he'd taken flitted around in his mind as he tried desperately for a solution. He fell asleep in that position an hour later wanting to sleep closer to John, something he wouldn't admit to a soul. 

_____

The next morning Sherlock stood on John's front step in his best suit, hair perfectly mussed and holding some of John's mail. He breathed deeply before knocking and taking a step back.

There was a bang and footsteps neared. Sherlock took a deep breath and John opened the door slowly. He looked Sherlock up and down and opened the door the rest of the way. He was incredibly handsome in a pair of pajama trousers and long sleeved t-shirt. Sherlock wanted to smell his hair. 

"Christ! Did I keep you up again? I'm sorry. I swear, I moved the bed away from the wall. I'll-" John began. 

"No. No, I've, there was, it's just that..." Sherlock tried. 

A small smile broke out across John's face and he took pity. "Want a cuppa?" 

"Your...friend isn't still here?" Sherlock asked. 

"My...oh, no." John replied, walking into the small kitchenette and pouring steaming water over a tea bag. 

He passed the cup to Sherlock, who took it and went to sit on the sofa, and made himself one. 

"Sugar? Milk?" he asked. 

"Two sugars." Sherlock replied, mind barely able to focus with all the new information brimming around him. 

He'd never been in John's flat before. They'd talked several times before but it hadn't been anything of quality. Just a simple hello here and there and the one time John had apologised for the obscenities he'd screamed during an especially memorable, for both of them, bout of love making. 

Now John's entire being was spilled out around him and he was desperately storing what he could away before he would have to feign normalcy and have a useless conversation with the recipient of his desire. 

"So. What can I do for you?" John asked as he plopped two sugars in Sherlock's tea and sat across from him. 

"Mail." Sherlock blurted. "I got some. Of yours. In mine. Your mail." 

John smiled that little smile again and took the stack from Sherlock's hand. He sorted through them and cocked his head to the side. 

"They have a hole through them." he said. 

"Mmm. Stab wound." Sherlock replied absently, staring over John's shoulder. 

John chuckled. "Ran into a bit of trouble, did they?" 

"Ran into me with a pocket knife." Sherlock said as he took a sip too soon from his tea. 

He rubbed his tongue against the back of his upper teeth to soothe the burn and finally met John's eyes. The man was grinning at him. He had no idea why. Had he said something entertaining? 

"Remind me not to piss you off." John said. 

"I'd never stab you, John. You're much too interesting." Sherlock said in response. 

"Am I?" John asked with a not so subtle lick of his lips. 

"And bored. Terribly bored." Sherlock added. "With the sex." 

John choked on his own saliva and set down his cup. Sherlock could feel the beginnings of a flush threatening to make its way up his neck. 

"Sorry, what?" John asked. 

"The sex you've been having. There has been a great deal of it but it hasn't been any good. There are a few reasons for that. I've made a chart if you'd like-" Sherlock said quickly. 

"Get out of my bloody flat!" John said through gritted teeth. 

Sherlock froze. John was angry. Why was John angry? Oh. Oh, he didn't like talking about the bad sex. 

"I just thought-" Sherlock tried again. 

John simply had to take a step forward for Sherlock to shut his mighty gob and make for the front door. He didn't even have the peace of mind to set his mug down. That is precisely how he ended up standing outside John's flat with it still in his hands a few seconds later as the door slammed in his face.


	2. Just Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two. I'm so exhausted I'm going to bed early but I just love this story. The last chapter will be up tomorrow and you'll finally have your porn, you filthy animals. *wink*

John had been out drinking with Mike the next night when a gorgeous brunette caught his eye. She sidled up next to him at the bar and proceeded to hit on him for the next hour. When Mike finally called it a night John offered to get the girl a cab. Instead they ended up in his flat, pressed lips to toes under the thick duvet.

He was so distracted by her long legs and perky breasts that he forgot all about Sherlock being able to hear them next door. She wrapped her legs around his back and arched up off the bed as John thrust into her, chasing his own climax.

When he did come, being wrung completely dry and thoroughly exhausted, he had dark brown curls and full lips on his mind. The problem was that the curls and lips did not belong to his current bedmate, but his neighbor. That elusive pervert had transfixed him.

He pulled off the condom and stumbled to the loo to clean up. By the time he got back to bed the woman he'd brought home was asleep. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed deeply but for once John didn't have the inclination to take his lover in his arms. He shook it off and went to make himself a cuppa.

_____

It took John three weeks to come to terms with the fact that what he was looking for each night he went out was what was right next door. He'd search for piercing eyes and dark curls and still end up dissatisfied. He'd even taken home a few men, something he was only tempted to do on occasion, in hopes that it would get the lithe bastard out of his brain.

Meanwhile Sherlock was continuing to take notes on John's bedding habits and was disappointed to find that his neighbor was having an even harder time finding release. It really was difficult to listen to him so obviously grasping for something he couldn't reach.

_____

Three weeks and fours days after John had kicked Sherlock out of his flat he came knocking on his door. Sherlock opened it with to what he hoped looked like disinterest but came across more as nervousness. John shuffled from foot to foot before clearing his throat and speaking.

"Do you want to get a drink tonight?" he asked.

Sherlock blinked for a whole minute, an amount of time you wouldn't think was rather long but absolutely was in this context. Excruciatingly so.

"No." he finally croaked.

John kicked the doorframe and cursed loudly before Sherlock could explain himself.

"I don't like going out. We could stay in?" Sherlock clarified hesitantly, still trying for aloof and still failing.

John chuckled and shook his head. He grinned up at Sherlock and the taller of the two found himself grinning back.

"You have a temper, Captain." Sherlock said, voice hitching up a bit.

"And you're a bloody tease." John replied "I think we'll get along just fine."


	3. Are You Always Bloody Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the porn, ladies and gentlemen. Enjoy.

When Sherlock finally came round that night John let him in and poured him a glass of wine. He sat next to him on the sofa and chewed on his bottom lip. Sherlock rolled the glass back and forth before taking a long sip. 

"I've been thinking about you." John said, hoping frankness was the way to go. 

"I know." Sherlock replied. 

John snorted and looked into his drink. 

"I've been thinking of you as well." Sherlock added after a few seconds. "Quite a great deal, I'm afraid." 

"Mmm. And what did those thoughts entail exactly?" John asked settling into his side of the sofa and watching Sherlock shrug nervously. 

"I'm not a virgin." Sherlock whispered. 

"Okay." John said in return, not sure what Sherlock meant by the statement. 

"I just, I haven't...in a long while. The sounds you make affect me." Sherlock said. 

John swallowed thickly and set down his glass. Sherlock glanced up at him and shuddered at the look of undisguised lust he found. 

"You must know how gorgeous you are." John murmured. "That's why you let me know you could hear me through the wall. So I'd think about you the next time...the next time I brought someone home." 

Sherlock set down his wine glass after an impressive swig and slid to his knees to rest his face in John's lap. The older man ran his fingers through his hair and sighed as Sherlock gripped at his legs. 

"Shh. It's okay. I'll take care of you, yeah?" John said softly. 

Sherlock nodded but refused to show his face. 

"You've wanted this for a long while, haven't you?" John asked. 

"Yes, John." Sherlock whimpered. 

"Alright then. Would you like to talk more, or should we go to the bedroom?" John asked, voice rough and low. 

Sherlock mumbled and John slipped a hand below his chin and pulled his face up. 

"What was that, dear?" he asked. 

"Bedroom, please." Sherlock whispered. 

John smiled gently and stood, leading Sherlock down the hall and into his bedroom. It was sparsely decorated and most of the room was taken up by a large bed. They stopped in front of it and John started unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt. 

"If I do something you don't like, something you aren't ready for, tell me. That's all I ask." John said as he pulled Sherlock's shirt from his waist. 

"Yes, John." Sherlock replied. 

"Now,  there was something you wanted to tell me. You figured out why I'm unsatisfied." John said, pushing Sherlock's shirt from his shoulders and starting on his trousers. "Go on." 

"You..." Sherlock began, trying to gather strength to show what he knew about John that others didn't. "You need to feel powerful. You're an army man and a doctor. You need to be in control and nurturing at the same time. You need someone who will trust you and submit without question. You need someone like me." 

John nodded and pulled Sherlock against him, slipping his hands down the back of his pants and gripping his arse. Sherlock moaned and rolled his hips. 

"And what's that? Hmm? What is 'someone like you'?" John asked, hands spreading Sherlock's cheeks and kneading them roughly. 

"A good little soldier, sir." Sherlock said breathlessly. 

John let his eyes fall closed and thrust his hips for a few moments before pulling back and pressing his lips to Sherlock's neck. When he let go and pushed Sherlock's open trousers and pants to the floor Sherlock was already panting. 

"Right so far. I know you have more for me, brilliant boy." John said, eyes bright. 

"You-you want to use force, but only a little. Perhaps coercion. Roleplay is a go. You want to feel as though you could be taking advantage." Sherlock said quickly, voice weak. "You want to take advantage of me while at the same time knowing I'd give it willingly. You are a complex man, John. You want to take without taking." 

John's jaw clenched and his left hand fisted quickly before relaxing and moving up with the right to unbutton his shirt. He made quick work of it and then removed his denims as well. He stood naked in front of Sherlock, exuding power, and Sherlock shivered. 

"And you want to be taken advantage of. You're always used to being in charge, aren't you? You'd rather like it if I took away the choice." John purred. "Down. On the bed. Now." he barked. 

Sherlock scrambled backwards and arranged himself on his back with his head on the pillow. He could barely control his breathing as John climbed onto the bed and then hovered over him. 

"Safeword, soldier." John growled, hand moving up to grip Sherlock's throat. 

"Cerebellum." Sherlock said resolutely. 

John grinned down at him and gripped a bit tighter before letting go and reaching to the bedside table. He pulled out a bottle of lube and two condoms and Sherlock spoke up. 

"I'm clean and we both know you wouldn't be doing this if you weren't. We don't need the condoms." he said. 

John tossed one onto his chest and shook his head. "Better safe than sorry. And next time you have an opinion I'll give it to you." 

Sherlock nodded and slipped the condom onto his severely neglected cock. He was hard and straining and just putting the condom on was a risk to denial. He wanted to thrust into his fist and come right then and there. Instead he squeezed the base of his prick and felt the need diminish a bit. 

John was over him then and kissing at his neck and chest. His lips were warm and wet and Sherlock whimpered with the effort to not arch up into the touch. John let his teeth drag against piqued flesh as he moved down to Sherlock's abdomen. 

"You were very naughty listening to me fuck. Tell, me, soldier, did you touch yourself?" John asked as he ran his hands down Sherlock's quaking sides. 

"Every night, sir." Sherlock admitted. 

"Oh, that's not good. No discipline at all. Pity." John teased as he gave one long stroke to Sherlock's cock and watched the way it twitched in his hand. 

"I'm sorry, sir." Sherlock whimpered. 

"You will be. Roll over." John said, sitting back and smiling at the way Sherlock flew into action, so willing to obey. 

"What are you going to do to me, sir?" Sherlock asked, voice wavering. 

"I'm going to teach you a lesson." John said. "Spread your cheeks for me." 

Sherlock moaned and dropped to his shoulders so he could do just that, heat coiling deep in his gut as he bared his arsehole for John. He grunted at the first touch, John's fingers doing nothing more than spreading the lube up and down. 

"You're quite sensitive, aren't you, boy?" John asked as he trailed his fingers down and wrapped a hand around Sherlock's bollocks. 

"Yes, sir." Sherlock panted. 

John pulled softly before biting into the quivering man's right arsecheek and then slapping it. Sherlock moaned and pushed back. 

"Desperate." John whispered. 

He circled his middle finger around the tightly furled nub and saw it twitch. 

"When was the last time you had something up inside you, soldier? Hmm?" he asked. 

"This morning, sir." Sherlock admitted. 

John chuckled darkly and pressed the tip of his finger just inside. Sherlock made a high pitched humming noise and John moved his finger slowly in circles. 

"And what was it? A finger? Two? Something bigger?" John asked. 

"Bigger, sir." Sherlock whispered, feeling shame warm his cheeks. 

John grinned and pushed his finger in further. Sherlock's body gripped around it before relaxing. He sighed into the pillow and John pulled his finger out slowly before pushing back in. 

"You're a little slut, aren't you?" John asked, pumping his finger slowly and getting Sherlock ready for another. 

"Yes, sir." Sherlock exclaimed. 

John pushed a second finger in after he'd felt enough stretch and curled them around to bump against Sherlock's prostate. The poor man could barely hold it together, shouting and thrusting himself back onto John's fingers. 

"Would you like to come like this? Could you? With just my fingers?" John asked. 

"Yes, sir. I don't know if I can, sir." Sherlock cried. 

"Let's see how close we can get you, yeah?" John asked, as he trailed his fingers around the slight bulge of Sherlock's prostate and the taller man nodded. 

John circled the spot and then pumped his fingers and circled again. Sherlock was sweating and cursing softly. John pushed hard against it and Sherlock yelped loudly. 

"That's right. It's overwhelming, isn't it? But that's what you want. To be overwhelmed. To be owned in this moment in my bed. It's all you could think about, sitting alone on the other side of this wall." John growled. 

Sherlock nodded roughly and John started a full on massage to his prostate. It was so much that Sherlock was afraid for a second he wouldn't be able to handle it. He almost asked John to stop. The second he gave in his body slumped further and John could feel it. 

"Yes, that's it, give in. I want you to come for me. You'll do that, won't you?" John said as he picked up the pace. 

"I can't! I can't!" Sherlock shouted. 

"Want to safeword?" John asked, gripping Sherlock's thigh painfully. 

"No, sir! No! No! Oh, fuck!" Sherlock screamed as the oversensitivity flowed into pleasure and he felt his cock spasm and shoot off. 

"Bloody perfect!" John growled. "Perfect, God, feel that. Come on, a little more." 

Sherlock whimpered as he filled the condom with come and thrust back against John's hand. When he hissed John pulled his fingers out slowly and poured lube onto his own cock. 

"Knees together." he commanded. "Make your thighs tight for me." 

Sherlock dropped his arms and pressed his knees together, thighs flexing. He moaned low and almost collapsed when he felt John's cock press slickly between them and rub against his bollocks. John lay his body over him and kissed his sweat covered back. 

"That's good. Oh, that's it. Keep those knees together." John murmured as he rolled his hips and fucked Sherlock's thighs. 

"Yes, sir." Sherlock squeaked. 

John chuckled and set up a bruising rhythm, arms around Sherlock's chest and hands holding onto his shoulders. He was close, had been for a long time. His cock felt like it was made out of steel as he pushed it between slim thighs over and over again. 

"Some day I'm gonna fuck you. Stretch you open and fuck you hard like this. Would you like that, Sherlock? Hmm?" John demanded as he felt his orgasm getting closer. 

Sherlock nodded and flexed his thighs. 

"Say it!" John shouted. 

"I want you to open me up and fuck me hard, sir!" Sherlock shouted in response. 

John's hips stuttered and he pushed forward hard and buried himself between Sherlock's legs as he came. His cock jerked and spasmed and he grunted loudly as he filled the condom with stream after stream of hot come. 

When he finally collapsed to the side he didn't even let go of Sherlock, bringing the younger man down with him. They lay against each other, sweaty and thoroughly sated, and tried to even out their breathing. 

"Fuck!" John cursed. "Are you always bloody right?" 

"Yes." Sherlock replied weakly. 

John started to giggle and was soon joined by the genius in his arms.


End file.
